The 68th Annual Hunger Games
by OceanAstro
Summary: Cole and Clarissa are only 14 years old, twins together since birth, and either of them could be selected at any time. When Clarissa gets reaped for the games, there's only 1 thing that Cole can do to save her. He volunteers as tribute. Now with both of them leaving District 3, they have to think about their challenges ahead of them, and most of all. Each other.
1. Chapter 1

I rise out of bed, looking out at the cobbled streets of District 3, excited to go to school with my sister Clarissa, and meet up with our friends. I get dressed in a simple green shirt and long jeans that go down to my feet. They are my father's, since we only have some much cloth and money to buy and make clothes. I walk out of my room, inspecting the old paint work my dad worked on so long ago, lines of paint peeling off from the wall, and wander into the still dimmed hallway. I knock on my sister's door before entering, the picture of our house that she drew when she was 7 still hanging on by a single nail. I wish that picture would fall off already, to stop reminding me of when we were younger and didn't know about the world we live in now.

I open the door as quietly as I can and glance to her bed. She's still sleeping, her body rolled to one side, her untidy covers spreading onto the floor. I am about to wake her when I realize why she is still sleeping so soundly. Today is the Reaping. Everyone is resting or waiting until 2pm rolls around, when we have to make our way to the town hall, to see who will be this year's tributes. I exited as quietly as I arrived, and shut the door behind me, the picture still haunting me as I turn the knob and lock the door, hoping to give my sister some privacy. The Reaping explains why I am the only one up, and how my parents haven't already rushed us to school. I turn back into my own room, lock the door and stare up at my ceiling until the sun rises.

I swing myself out of bed again as I see the shimmer of sunlight cast shadows through my room. I have to get chores done before anyone else wakes up, just to make sure we are all prepared for the day. I pull on my boots, tall and made of leather, and my small sack of coins, and step outside into the street. The sky is cloudy, probably from last night's drizzle, and I can see its remains since the bucket outside our house is almost filled to its brim. I drag it back inside and leave it near the front door. Its's our only water supply besides the streams of the woods that lead into the district, and the heavy downpours that happen periodically. I rush outside once again, before heading down to the market to buy a small amount of food for our breakfast. I reach the market, nicknamed The Gear, for it was where they say most of the old machines were made. It is also where small businesses and traders go to, only to leave after not selling enough, the amount of space and products rotating like a cycle. Like a gear. The name might not sound pleasant, but on the lone street where it has fortunately become prosperous, there's an old man nicknamed Sparky. He is probably the kindest man in District 3, and is always helpful when our family is in need.

I hurry over to his small stand, his body turning to look at its next customer.

"What are you doing up so early? You should be sleeping." says Sparky.

I laugh slightly. "I was about to ask you the same question." Sparky only gives me a smile, probably since I am the only person who cares about him besides his family. People just don't know him like I do.

I see that he has many different things, ranging from breads, to meat, to pints of berries of all different colors. "I got to ask again. How do you get all of this stuff?"

He gives me a hard look, as a pair of Peacekeepers tread past us, their white helmets shining against the morning sun. They are just around the corner when I realize how he got all this. His son went hunting again. His son is luckily above the Reaping age line at 21, allowing him to be with his family and help with the business. I have begged to Sparky for his son to teach me how to properly hunt, but Sparky always declines.

"You can't do what my son does. Alright? If he starts teaching you how, I might just have some competition on the horizon." he always jokes, even though I know that he's serious. Hunting in District 3 is dangerous cause of all the wild animals that reside outside the barbed wire fencing that lines the district. Anywhere past that fencing is off limits, and if the Peacekeepers catch you, they'll arrest you or worse. I once heard of a man who managed to sneak out at night and head over to the fence, hoping to cut the wire with just a set of tweezers. He barely was able to cut any of it before Peacekeepers came and shoot him right in the head. Just like that. Back then, the fencing wasn't electrified, but now it is, which just causing more hazards for going outside the fence.

I turn back to the task at hand. I look around at Sparky's delicacies before trying to purchase two loafs of bread along with a pint of red berries. I try to hand over my money, but Sparky rejects it.

"On me!" he exclaims, "I know you kids have a tough time today anyways, because of the Reaping and all."

I nod in thanks and understanding as I stroll back to my house, the aroma of soft bread trailing behind me as I go.


	2. Chapter 2

As I reach home, I notice that the door is open ajar, and I step inside to the sound of yawns and walking feet on creaky wood planks. Everyone has just woken up, and they all must be hungry. I turn to my left into the kitchen, putting the loaves and pint on a plate. My mother is the first one to enter. She has ashen skin like all of this, with long blonde hair unlike my father. My sister and I both have brown hair, so the blonde hair is recessive. She's also wearing a long nightgown that she bought when she got married to our father, its silky fabric now treading on the floor while she walks over to me.

"Why are you up so early?" she asks, and I can't help but smile.

"That's exactly what Sparky said when I went to The Gear this morning." I say. "He gave me these free of charge." I point to the food on the plate.

My mother rolls her eyes at the comment.

"That Sparky! He shouldn't be handing out things for free, even if it's Reaping Day. He needs that money to support his family just like the rest of us."

"Yeah but look!" I exclaim, hoping to turn the attention away from Sparky towards what he gave us for breakfast.

Her eyes widen as she sees the bread and berries. She walks over to the plate, lifts it up and brings it over to the counter, and begins to cook.

"I'm going to make these berries into some of my favorite jams." she says.

I wait for a second before starting to walk away from her. She doesn't ask if I would like anything else, the silence of her cooking meaning she wants some peace and quiet.

I quietly leave the room and saunter down the hall to my sister's bedroom. I don't bother about the drawing, but more care if she is up and ready to eat in a few minutes, since jam is probably all we'll eat until the Reaping. Her door is unlocked, which is a hopeful sign, and I step inside.

I see her sitting on her bed, her legs hung over the side, her brown hair to match mine falling onto the mattress.

"Clarissa?" I say. She doesn't respond.

"Clarissa?' I ask again this time a hint of question in my tone.

"Yeah?" She answers. "I… was just thinking about what's going to happen today that's all."

I walk over to her and sit down beside her.

"You are not going to be picked, and neither will I. Alright? It's only 15 slips out of thousands."

We each decided to buy tesserae for each of us when we turned 12, which lead to us to have 5 slips instead of just one. After 2 years, we both being 14 years old, means that Clarissa and myself will both have 15 slips, meaning 30 slips in total.

"How do you know? How are you so sure?" Clarissa asks.

"I know. I just do." I say to her quietly. "Let's go eat before it turns 2pm."

We then both maneuver up from her bed and out to the door again to the kitchen, the floor now creaking with each step we take.

Our father is now awake, his movement as silent as ever, and his shaggy brown hair that hasn't been brushed in days is now matted. He is wearing the clothes he usually needs for work, even though the employees of the factories have a day off today.

Our family lives in the factory section of District 3, which is the poorest section because the workers aren't paid much, and there's always dust or ash from the fumes on just about everything. It's better up north, where most people are specialists in electronics rather than gear work and assembly lines. They usually get little amounts of tesserae, or none at all if they're lucky. We don't despise the people up north, but there's always tension between us. There are almost always disputes about income and working hours. On the other hand, we both don't know what the other has to deal with, what struggles they have go through to survive.

We almost seem to eat in silence, using a dull butter knife to gently glide the jam onto the slices of bread. We don't speak about what will happen later today, how 2 children between the ages of 12 and 18 will be selected to fight to the death. Or how almost all the families in District 3 will eat with pleasure, knowing that their children weren't picked this year. Or even how the other families, the two that had their children snatched from them, will have to decide what to do in the coming days before their children die.


End file.
